The Chance Effect

Chapter 5.

Atlas' POV

The days in the hospital seem to stretch endlessly as my parents visited me diligently. I had expected my sister to be here too, but apparently, she is studying abroad in France. The last I knew, she was only 16 years old.

"Why won't you guys let me watch any TV?" I ask my parents as they sit in silence, engrossed in their cell phones. My dad glances up at me, seeking guidance from my mother.

"Can I at least have my phone so I can talk to my friends?" I sigh, feeling my patience waning. My dad puffs his cheeks before responding.

"Well, son, we just don't want anything else to confuse you further until we can establish a clear timeline of what you remember before the car wreck," he explained, running his fingers through his dark hair. "The doctor says it's in your best interest if we maintain your current state of mind and not let any distractions from the media conflict with that."

"I just don't understand why I can't have something to make this go by faster. Just sitting here, staring at the walls isn't doing anything for me. I doubt watching something on TV could do that much harm," I sigh, trying to remain patient.

"I know I'm having some memory issues, but I'm sure I will be fine," I reassure, a hint of frustration in my voice. My mother sighs, smoothing out the creases in her forehead.

"Honey, until the doctors finish running their tests, there's not much we can do at the moment. You'll have to be patient before we can move on to the next steps," she says sincerely, looking at me with almost apologetic eyes. I knew my mother well enough to sense that something was going on that she wasn't telling me, but for now, I chose to remain silent.

A sudden knock at the door jolts my attention, prompting my mother to rise and welcome the visitor. But before she reaches the door, it swings open, revealing three figures with tattoos adorning their arms, one of them sporting shaggy pink hair. Wait, I recognize them. These are my childhood friends.

"There he is, the man with a tale to tell," greets one of them, his caramel-colored skin familiar. Carter?

"Hey guys... I wasn't expecting you so soon," my mother's face betrays anxiety.

"Of course we'd be here! Our boy has been through the trenches," says Max, the one with pink hair, a grin on his face.

"There's a lot happening right now, and we don't want to overwhelm Atlas with everything he's trying to process," my mother attempts to guide them out of the room.

"Process what? Can't we see how he's doing?" Alex, with lighter shaggy hair, politely asks.

I had last seen them right before the car wreck—how could they possibly look like they're closer to 30 years old?

"Why do you guys look different?" I finally speak, earning puzzled looks.

"What do you mean by 'different'? I'm probably just having a bad hair day," Max jokes, lightening the tense atmosphere.

"You guys just look... older," I say in a monotone voice.

"Is he okay?" Carter points at me, glancing at my dad.

"It would be better if you guys stepped out so we could explain what's going on," my dad suggests, standing up.

"No, I want you to explain to them right now. Nobody's telling me anything, and I've just been confined to this room for three days," I assert, frustrated. I pull the covers off, noticing something poking out from under a sleeve of my hospital gown. I lift my arm to examine what it is.

"Is that a tattoo?" I look back at my friends for an answer, but nobody responds. I pull my sleeve over my shoulder, revealing several others.

"What the hell," the words escape my lips before I can process.